


i know it's gonna get me in trouble

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: “Well.” Tyson clears his throat and sits up straight. “Pretending to be strangers who meet in a bar for a one night stand is good, it’s fine, but… isn’t it kind of dull? Like, that’s what married people who reallyarebored with each other do to spice shit up.”“Wow,” Gabe says slowly. “You totally insulted my idea. It’s for boring married people, I see how it is.”“I just think we can do better,” Tyson says.“Fine,” Gabe says. “What’ve you got?”Tyson raises his chin, just a little. “You’ll pick me up in a bar as an escort.” When Gabe doesn’t say anything, just raises one eyebrow and considers it, Tyson adds, “It’s legal to sell sex in Sweden, Gabe.”





	i know it's gonna get me in trouble

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy. this one is entirely britta's fault; she's the one who knew that in sweden it's legal to sell sex but not legal to buy it. that's really all there is to say. title is from side to side by ariana grande.

“Look at that,” Tyson mutters. He’s drunk; they both are, toward the end of a night out with the boys. The group is dwindling, and Tyson has been leaning half into Gabe for awhile now, slurping down the last of his sangria. His lips are stained dark pink from the wine. He’s pressed against Gabe’s side, staring over his shoulder. 

“Don’t stare,” Gabe tells him, even as he turns around, craning his neck and following Tyson’s line of sight to where JT is leaning on the bar, talking to a girl. “Why are you watching Comphy pick up? What, ‘m I not enough anymore?”

“You used to be that nice to me,” Tyson says, ignoring Gabe, sighing wistfully as the girl says something and JT laughs a little too hard, leaning in toward her, smiling. 

“I’m plenty nice to you!” Gabe says, setting his beer down harder than he means to; across the table, EJ raises his eyebrows. “I am so nice to you, like, all the time.”

“Not like that,” Tyson says, gesturing with his chin. 

“Oh,” Gabe says, momentarily at a loss for words; then he leans in, close enough to rumble out his next sentence against Tyson’s neck. “You like it when I’m not nice to you, though.”

Tyson grins, sharp and pleased. “Sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” Gabe tells him, and drags his mouth over the underside of Tyson’s jaw, enjoys the way Tyson squirms against him.

“Get a room,” EJ says, pushing his chair back and standing up, although he doesn’t sound particularly offended; he’s used to them by now, and Gabe knows he just likes to complain about it. “All right, I’m heading out.” In lieu of a goodbye, Gabe flips him off. 

“I’m just saying,” Tyson whines. “A boy likes to be wined and dined sometimes.” The girl and JT are leaving now too; JT’s hand is low on her back and they’re still laughing about something. “Don’t you miss that?” Tyson mumbles as Gabe decides it’s time for them to get home too and struggles to his feet, drags Tyson up with him. “The _electricity_ , Gabe.”

“Sure,” Gabe tells him, although it’s not really something he thinks about. Tyson picked up - or was picked up, more likely - a lot more often than he ever did before they started dating, and, well. This is nice, what they’ve been doing for the last eight months; there’s still plenty of electricity. He thinks. 

“‘m not bored,” Tyson slurs as Gabe shoves him into the back of the Uber, like he read Gabe’s mind. “You know you’re, like, really hot. Like, I’m hitting aaaaall this - ” He waves his hands vaguely in the general area of Gabe’s torso. “How could I be bored?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Gabe tells him, even as pleased warmth stirs, uncurls in his stomach and nudges the creeping worry out of the way. “Move over.”

Tyson moves over approximately two inches, and plasters himself back against Gabe’s side once Gabe gets into the car. “I just miss the anti - sip - ayshun.” He frowns. “Antici - whatever. That. The buildup.”

“Okay,” Gabe says gently. “Anticipation. I got it.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, pleased, tucking his nose into Gabe’s neck. “That’s why I keep you around. You know words for me.”

Gabe turns his head, kisses Tyson’s hair. Tyson makes a soft noise and curls his fingers into Gabe’s shirt as the car pulls away, and Gabe starts thinking.  
  
  
  
  
Gabe isn’t sleeping on the flight, only dozing a little. He knows he’ll regret it once the team lands in Stockholm; he spent the last week telling anyone who would listen that sleeping on the plane is the way to beat the jet lag, but now that they’re here he can’t settle his brain or his body enough to sleep, which is why when Tyson shuffles down the aisle and leans into his row, Gabe startles awake almost immediately.

“Hi,” Tyson says in a loud whisper. “I’m bored.”

“Sit down then,” Gabe mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and clearing his iPad and a book off the empty seat next to him; usually it’s where EJ sits, but EJ abandoned him early on, claiming that Barbs had “all the good movies” on his laptop. When Gabe asked which movies, EJ had just looked at him and said, “The good ones, Gabe.” Gabe hadn’t wanted to ask what that meant.

But now it means that Tyson can drop into the seat next to him, flip up the armrest between them and curl into Gabe’s side, so Gabe thinks he’s okay with it. Tyson can slide his hand under the blanket and over Gabe’s thigh and he’s okay with that, too. When Tyson casually moves his hand close to Gabe’s dick, though, letting his fingers brush against it casually like it wasn’t absolutely, completely intentional, that’s where he draws the line. 

“We are not fooling around on a plane full of our teammates,” Gabe whispers, grabbing Tyson’s hand and moving it. “I’ve told you this so many times, okay, no mile high club business.”

“Obviously not,” Tyson whispers back. “Planes fly at more like six miles high. Six and a half, maybe.”

“How do you know that?” Gabe asks.

“I can’t know basic math?” Tyson says. “Don’t tell me that huge head of yours doesn’t understand that 30,000 feet is a lot more than a mile.”

“Shut up,” Gabe says automatically. “Hey. I wanted to talk to you about something, I have an idea.”

“Uh oh,” Tyson says, because he’s a total brat and never lets Gabe forget it. “That’s not good.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Gabe repeats, but he’s grinning helplessly so he figures it probably doesn’t carry much weight. “Listen. It’s about what you said last weekend, when we were out, about missing the anticipation of a hook up. You remember?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, flushing. “I was drunk, Gabe, it’s okay, I was just talking, I - you know I’m really happy, right?”

“Yes,” Gabe says gently, squeezing Tyson’s hand. “I am too. But - it’d also be easy enough to just pretend we’re strangers and I’ll pick you up in a bar, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Tyson says again. His eyes get dark. Gabe waits while he thinks about it. “Yeah, okay.”

“We could do it while we’re in Sweden,” Gabe offers. “Less of a chance anyone recognizes us.”

“What, like you’re not basically Sweden’s king?” Tyson asks. “Please.”

“Sweden has a real king,” Gabe informs him, and Tyson groans, letting his head drop back against the seat.

“Don’t start about the Royal Family again, okay, you know I don’t care and - ”

“No one will recognize us,” Gabe cuts in. “They gave Lundqvist a _billboard_ , but nobody in Sweden knows me from any of the hundreds of art students named Gustav.” 

“You’re hotter than Lundqvist,” Tyson says immediately, extremely thoughtfully and considerately. “And you have a bigger dick. I mean, I’m only assuming, you’d be able to tell me for sure, but - ”

“For god’s sake,” Gabe says, grinning hard, and Tyson stops talking as Gabe leans over and kisses him, just a little, a soft press of lips that he hopes gets across how much he loves Tyson. They haven’t said it yet, but he does; Gabe isn’t quite sure what he’s waiting for because he thinks maybe, probably, it’s mutual. He figures he’ll know the right moment when he finds it.

Tyson’s quiet for a minute, head leaning against Gabe’s shoulder, and then he says, “ _Do_ you have a bigger dick than Lundqvist?”

“No,” Gabe says, sighing heavily. “It’s obscene. The man is a god.”

“I still like you better,” Tyson tells him. “I’ll even let you pick me up in a bar.”

“Thanks, Tys,” Gabe says. “That means a lot.”

“Tbeauty,” Tyson corrects; he won’t let the nickname go, even though it steadfastly refuses to catch on. He had it printed on his sticks this year, and EJ fined him $500 and led the room in making fun of him for it for almost a month, but Tyson is sticking to his guns. Gabe respects it, even if it’s a ridiculous nickname.

“I’m not calling you that,” Gabe tells him. “We’ve been over this.”

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Tyson says. “You’re supposed to support me. Okay, I just got an idea.”

“Uh oh,” Gabe mocks, and laughs when Tyson shoves at him. “Fine, go ahead, what is it?”

“Well.” Tyson clears his throat and sits up straight. “Pretending to be strangers who meet in a bar for a one night stand is good, it’s fine, but… isn’t it kind of dull? Like, that’s what married people who really _are_ bored with each other do to spice shit up.”

“Wow,” Gabe says slowly. “You totally insulted my idea. It’s for boring married people, I see how it is.”

“I just think we can do better,” Tyson says.

“Fine,” Gabe says. “What’ve you got?”

Tyson raises his chin, just a little. “You’ll pick me up in a bar as an escort.” When Gabe doesn’t say anything, just raises one eyebrow and considers it, Tyson adds, “It’s legal to sell sex in Sweden, Gabe.”

“How do you _know_ that?” Gabe asks, the roleplay counterproposal forgotten, because seriously. 

“What, I can’t know things?” Tyson demands. 

“It’s awfully niche information,” Gabe says. “Are you planning to leave hockey and start a career as a male prostitute in Sweden?”

“No,” Tyson says, flushing. “That would be your area of expertise, c’mon, you’d be a way better male prostitute than I would. I read it when I was looking stuff up for the trivia game.”

“Did you think there would be a prostitution question?” Gabe asks mildly. 

“No!” Tyson says. “I didn’t _seek out_ the information, I just stumbled across it, okay, Jesus. Give me a break.”

“Never,” Gabe says. “Okay. Fine. Escort Gabe it is.”

“Wear something sexy,” Tyson says, winking at him. “I want my money’s worth.”

“You got it, babe,” Gabe says, dropping his voice and winking back and enjoying the way Tyson’s face flushes as he squirms in his seat. 

“Stop. Are you sure we can’t - ”

“Mikko has the seat by the bathroom, but by all means, if you wanna get caught again - ”

“Worth it,” Tyson says, leering at Gabe. “Every time.” He pitches his voice higher, sings, “ _Give it to me, I’m worth it! Baby, I’m worth it!_ That’s you, and you’re right, and it is.”

Gabe can’t help himself from laughing. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, forget it.”

“Rude,” Tyson says, but he snuggles back up against Gabe’s side and sighs. “So, Wednesday night? After we have dinner with your dad?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, a little thrill zipping through him. “Which, are you sure you want to go to dinner? You don’t have to.”

“Do you not want me to?” Tyson counters, but he sounds calm, like he knows this is nothing more than Gabe panicking, just a little, about what Tyson joining him for dinner with his dad means, about whether or not that’s really, truly something Tyson wants to commit to.

Gabe takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “I really, really do.”

“Then of course I want to go,” Tyson says. “Don’t be stupid, come on, when am I gonna get to meet him otherwise?”

“Okay,” Gabe says. He pauses. “Good.”

Tyson squeezes his thigh. “We’re doing this, Gabriel. You’re not just getting rid of me like a damp sock now.”

“Like a - _what?_ ” Gabe asks, starting to laugh. “Did you just say ‘like a damp sock’?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, like it’s obvious. “It’s an expression!”

“No,” Gabe manages, really laughing now; his stomach is already starting to hurt because he’s trying so hard to be quiet. “It’s really not.”

“Shut up, it is in my family, English is your second language so you don’t know anything,” Tyson says snottily. Gabe just laughs harder.  
  
  
  
  
“Do we need to set any ground rules?” Gabe wonders aloud, wandering out of the bathroom. They’d gotten back from dinner 20 minutes ago, and Tyson had insisted he needed to change, and they’re still here.

“Um. I don’t know, pretend that you don’t know me and offer me sex for money?” Tyson says. He’s looking at himself in the mirror, fucking with his hair. Gabe doesn’t see the point. 

“Stop it, you look good. I get what we’re doing, I just mean… boundaries.”

“I know what you mean,” Tyson says, finally turning away from the mirror. “Look, just make it as realistic as you feel comfortable doing. Don’t worry about weirding me out, I’m good with anything.” He winks, lewdly.

“Trust me, I know,” Gabe says. “Okay. The safeword phrase is ‘Sweden has a population of 10 million.’”

“Fuck you,” Tyson says. “It does not, Gabe, I swear to you that everything I read - ”

“It’s 10 million, Tyson!” Gabe says. “I would know!”

“Oh, yeah, what are you, a population expert? Did you personally conduct the last census? Just because you’re Swedish doesn’t mean you automatically know every single thing there is to know about the country,” Tyson argues. His face is red and indignant and Gabe can’t quite hide his smile. “I can’t stand you, I swear to god, Gabe.”

“Liar,” Gabe says, leaning in close and tipping Tyson’s chin up with one finger, kissing him lightly. “Get out of here, go down to the bar.”

“Fine,” Tyson says, and then he pauses, tilts his head in consideration, and unbuttons the second button of Gabe’s shirt. “That’s better, there you go.” He pats Gabe’s chest, gives him a quick smile and slips out of the hotel room, and Gabe huffs out a laugh. Then he gets a little bottle of vodka from the minibar and takes one swig, then two, before deciding _fuck it_ and downing it all. Liquid courage. 

He gives Tyson ten minutes before pocketing the extra room key and heading out; his stomach is going wild with nerves as he takes the elevator down, but they disappear as soon as he walks into the hotel bar and sees Tyson sitting there, sipping at a glass of something on the rocks. His collar is open and his hair, okay, looks better than usual and Gabe’s mouth goes dry as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Gabe says in his sultriest voice, leaning into Tyson’s space just a little before taking half a step back and nodding at the seat next to him. “Mind if I join you?”

Tyson leans back in his seat and gives Gabe an obvious onceover, and when he flicks his eyes back up to meet Gabe’s they’re already a little dark, a little hungry and wild, and there’s heat collecting in Gabe’s gut.

“You’re more than welcome,” Tyson says, putting just enough emphasis on the words to make it sound absolutely filthy. As Gabe pulls out the stool next to him, Tyson gestures to the bartender smoothly enough that Gabe is genuinely impressed. “I’m Tyson.”

“Nice to meet you, Tyson,” Gabe says, offering his hand, letting his fingertips linger on Tyson’s hand just slightly longer than would be appropriate. “I’m Gabe. Why are you drinking alone tonight?”

“I’m in Stockholm for work,” Tyson tells him as the bartender drops off a glass for Gabe that matches the half-empty one in front of Tyson. “Just thought I’d grab a quick drink before calling it a night.”

“All business, no pleasure?” Gabe purrs, leaning in just a little, looking for the flush that he knows is going to spread across Tyson’s cheeks. He isn’t disappointed. 

“Something like that,” Tyson manages. “What about you?”

“Oh, a little business, a little pleasure,” Gabe says. He winks. Tyson actually giggles into his drink. “What kind of work do you do, Tyson?”

“I, uh. Play NHL hockey,” Tyson says, smiling a little and ducking his head sheepishly. Gabe has seen him do it in bars a million times, just never with _Gabe_ on the receiving end of it, and it’s strangely thrilling. 

“You must be good, if you’re in the NHL,” Gabe says, taking a sip of his drink and then setting the glass down and making eye contact with Tyson. “Are you good?”

Tyson splutters over his drink, just a little. Gabe bites back a smile. “Yeah, I-I’m all right.”

“Hockey must be stressful,” Gabe continues, and he reaches out and lightly touches Tyson’s arm. “Do you ever have trouble… unwinding?”

“Sometimes,” Tyson breathes, his eyes wide. His lips are parted and his temples are sweating and he looks desperate, and all they’re doing is talking. Gabe kind of can’t stand it. 

“I could help with that, if you’d like,” Gabe offers coyly, looking away to take another sip of his drink and settling his hand on Tyson’s upper thigh. “For a price.” 

“Jesus,” Tyson says, squeezing his eyes shut; Gabe can see the muscles in his jaw moving as he clenches it. He takes a breath through his nose, exhales slowly, and then opens his eyes, having collected himself enough to get back in character. His gaze drops to Gabe’s hand, still on his thigh, and he swallows and licks his lips and meets Gabe’s eyes to nod.

“Please.”

Gabe leans in, his grip on Tyson’s thigh getting firmer. “Two hundred for an hour, five hundred for the night.”

“Five - ” Tyson starts loudly, before abruptly snapping his mouth closed and visibly pulling himself back into character. Gabe is going to get shit for that later, he knows. “I only have three.”

“ATM in the lobby,” Gabe breathes, his lips brushing the outer shell of Tyson’s ear. “I’ll wait.”

When he leans back, Tyson gives him a look that says in no uncertain terms that he can’t believe Gabe is really going to make him go withdraw $200 from a Swedish ATM, but Gabe just smiles at him. He’s committed to the part; he’s an expensive escort. 

“I’ll be right back,” Tyson says, standing up and leaning in close, ostensibly to barely brush his lips over the corner of Gabe’s mouth, but Gabe doesn’t miss the way he takes a second to adjust himself in his pants, blocked from the view of the other people in the bar by Gabe. It’s not an intentional part of what they’re doing, Gabe knows, but he smirks anyway.

“Careful, there, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Gabe tells him, voice low and dirty, and the back of Tyson’s neck is pink as he leaves the bar. Gabe smiles happily to himself and settles in to enjoy the rest of his drink while he waits for Tyson to come back. 

He finishes his drink, and he waits a little more, and then he gets up to see what’s going on; more than likely, the ATM is only in Swedish and Tyson keeps pressing the button to check balances, not withdraw. But then he goes out into the lobby and sees not Tyson but the familiar swirling blue lights of a Stockholm police cruiser, and his stomach drops to somewhere around his ankles. 

Fuck.

Gabe heads outside, desperately hoping that it’s not what he knows it is, and sure enough, there’s Tyson, hands cuffed behind his back and arguing with the officer in his limited Swedish, which is just “nej!” over and over while frantically shaking his head. When he sees Gabe, he looks almost desperate with relief. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Gabe asks the officer. “This is my friend.”

“I have reason to believe he was paying for sex,” is the answer, which Gabe also knew but had been hoping wasn’t true. 

“Okay,” he starts, cringing. “Here’s the thing. He wasn’t really, we were pretending, is there - he still has the money, right? Can’t you just forget it?”

“He told me that’s what he was going to do, so no,” the officer says, and Gabe drops his head into his hands. Jesus. 

“We’re hockey players,” he says desperately. “In the NHL. I’m Swedish, I’m Gabe Landeskog, you must - ”

“I’ve never seen either of you before in my life, and I have to take him in,” the officer says blandly. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Gabe says, but then - “Wait, really? I don’t look at all familiar? I just won Worlds with Team Sweden in May!”

“Oh, yes, and I am married to Elin Nordegren,” the officer says, laughing.

“I _did_!” Gabe says hotly, worked up enough for Tyson to say warningly, “Gabe.” When Gabe looks over at him, he shakes his head a little.

The police officer puts Tyson in the backseat of the cruiser and turns back to Gabe. “Bail will be posted in a few hours at Södermalm.” Then he gets in the car, flips the sirens on, which seems totally unnecessary, and drives off. 

Gabe lets out a groan of frustration and anger, and calls EJ, who actually lets him explain the situation without laughing, which Gabe is extremely grateful for.

“Look, okay, they’re going to post bail? So you _could_ just go over there and pay it and get him out,” EJ says. 

“But what if it’s in the paper?” Gabe asks. “What if it gets picked up, and people hear about it, and - ”

“Yeah,” EJ says. He’s quiet for a minute. “You know who you have to call.”

“Fuck,” Gabe says, because he does. “Fuck!”

“Good luck, buddy,” EJ says, and he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh as he hangs up. Gabe retracts every charitable thought he’s ever had about EJ, sighs very, very deeply, and faces the really unappealing prospect of calling Sakic.

Joe answers on the fourth ring, because he’s probably having a perfectly pleasant evening in Stockholm and wasn’t expecting two of his players to get embroiled in a sex scandal, and Gabe grits his teeth and explains the situation as succinctly as possible, glossing over the specifics of why the cop thought Tyson was paying for sex as much as he thinks he can get away with. Sakic isn’t an idiot, and Gabe has a hunch he’s filling in the blanks that Gabe is leaving just fine on his own, but Gabe would rather leave Tyson in a Swedish jail overnight than tell Sakic that he was roleplaying as a male prostitute in the hotel bar.

There’s a very, very weighty pause when he finishes explaining. 

“As luck would have it, I’m finishing dinner with Peter right now,” Sakic finally says, and Gabe literally is going to lie down and die at the prospect of Forsberg getting involved in this. There’s muffled conversation in the background, and Gabe waits, mortified, until Sakic says, “Gabe, we can head to the police station to sort this out as soon as we're done here. Can you send me the address?”

“Sure,” Gabe croaks. 

“Great. Thanks,” Sakic says, and hangs up without saying goodbye, which is just how he is but makes Gabe feel like a child in trouble, and he kicks at the pavement, sends a rock bouncing into the street. 

Gabe finds the stupid address and texts it to Sakic, and gets an Uber to the police station for himself, and then he texts EJ while he waits for the car. _well that was horrible_

EJ’s reply is quick and fully uncalled for: _hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha_

Gabe gets a second text within seconds, but this one isn’t much better. _what were u guys thinking_

 _i was thinking tyson wouldn’t tell a cop he was paying for sex!!!_ Gabe sends. 

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_ , he gets back, and Gabe locks his phone in disgust and gets into the Uber that pulls up. The police station isn’t far, and he heads in and starts arguing with the desk officer, a different man who also insists he has no idea who Gabe is. 

Maybe these cops just aren’t hockey fans, Gabe decides finally, giving up and sinking into a chair in the waiting room, so of course that’s when the door swings open and Forsberg comes in, followed closely by Sakic. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so annoying, the way the officer at the desk looks up, his jaw dropping open, eyes going so wide he looks like a cartoon.

“Hello,” Forsberg says pleasantly. “I’d like to know if you’ve processed Tyson Barrie yet.”

“Of course, Mr. Forsberg,” the officer stammers, and Gabe barely resists rolling his eyes as he stands up. “No, not yet, he was just brought in.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could release him,” Forsberg says. “I can assure you, this was a misunderstanding, and there was no… paying for sex actually taking place.” 

“He told the arresting officer that’s what he was doing,” the desk cop explains, even as he’s picking up a phone and dialing, and all three men look at Gabe, even Sakic, despite not speaking Swedish and having no idea what’s going on.

“He wasn’t paying anyone for sex,” Gabe says weakly, praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. “I don’t know why in God’s name he actually told the cop he was, but he wasn’t. It was…” He pauses. “A joke.”

“Right,” the cop says. Gabe is pretty sure Sakic and Forsberg are both trying not to laugh. Once Tyson gets out of here, he owes Gabe for the rest of his _life_. 

It takes what feels like years, Gabe shuffling his feet and trying not to make eye contact with anybody, but finally the door opens and an officer lets Tyson into the lobby. 

“Are you okay?” Gabe asks, moving toward him quickly - too quickly, he realizes too late, not that he really thinks there’s anybody left in the room who isn’t well aware that he and Tyson are fucking. He still forces himself to resist the urge to touch Tyson. 

“I’m good, yeah,” Tyson says, and then _waves to the fucking cop_. “Thanks, Viktor!”

“Are you serious?” Gabe says. 

“What are Sakic and Forsberg doing here?” Tyson says. 

“I had to tell them what happened to get you out so that there wouldn’t be a record,” Gabe says, gritting his teeth. 

“Oh, holy shit, seriously?” Tyson says. 

“The PG-13 version, yeah, that you were randomly suspected of trying to buy sex but I have no idea why,” Gabe says. “I can’t believe you befriended the cops here.” 

“Viktor’s a good dude,” Tyson says. “He let me keep my phone and bought me a snack.”

“You were here for 20 minutes!” Gabe says. 

Tyson shrugs, and then heads past him. “Hi, Joe. I guess I should thank you.”

Sakic holds up his hands. “Not necessary. It was really Peter. Just, please, Tyson, make sure that whatever happened doesn’t happen again.”

“Deal,” Tyson says easily. “I’ll keep it out of team business.”

“Let’s shoot for ‘don’t get arrested at all,’” Sakic says, and Tyson laughs. 

“Always the goal. Gabe! Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” Gabe says, shaking Sakic and then Forsberg’s hands, and following Tyson out of the police station to where he’s standing on the sidewalk, getting an Uber. Tyson glances up and smiles.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“For what?” Gabe asks, letting out a long, long breath now that he’s out of the station, away from the piercing, knowing gazes of Sakic and Forsberg. 

“Worrying,” Tyson says simply. Then he laughs. “Calling Sakic and _Forsberg_ to get me out of jail on the off chance somehow me getting arrested leaked to the internet, Jesus Christ, what the hell did Sakic even say?”

“Not much,” Gabe admits. “You know how he’s kind of hard to read?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says. He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Did he know what really happened, do you think?”

Gabe pauses. “Probably.”

Tyson laughs. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Gabe says as their Uber pulls up. In the dark of the car, Tyson finds Gabe’s hand and links their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Gabe’s knuckles. Gabe looks out the window, smiles, squeezes Tyson’s hand.

As they cross the hotel lobby five minutes later, Tyson gestures to the bar. “You want another drink?” 

Gabe huffs out a laugh. “Upstairs, maybe, yeah. Not here.”

“Fair,” Tyson says, grinning. “I’ll cover you from the minibar.” 

“Good,” Gabe says, as the elevator dings. “That $500 doesn’t cover expenses, you know.” 

Tyson laughs, wide and bright, leaning into Gabe’s side. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, his voice low, and that’s when they get to the third floor and the elevator stops and the doors slide open and they come face to face with Duchene, which is just about the last thing Gabe’s evening needed. Based on the way Duchene takes a deep breath before stepping into the elevator, as if steeling himself, Gabe guesses he feels the same way.

“Hey, boys,” he says, pressing 12. “How’s your night?”

“I got arrested for a sex crime,” Tyson says as the elevator doors slide shut. Gabe almost chokes. So does Duchene.

“You _what_?”

“A police officer thought I was paying an escort for sex, and he arrested me,” Tyson explains. “Except it wasn’t an escort, it was Gabe pretending to be an escort.”

“Oh my gosh,” Duchene says. His entire face is bright red. “You guys need to be more careful.”

“What’s life if you don’t take a few risks?” Tyson says cheerfully as the elevator dings for their floor. “‘Night, Dutch.”

Duchene sighs and sags against the wall of the elevator, looking traumatized. Gabe claps him on the shoulder and follows Tyson, who’s already halfway down the hall. 

“Why do you do that to him?” Gabe asks, coming up behind him as Tyson unlocks the door. 

“It’s easy,” Tyson says, flipping on the light as Gabe locks the door behind them. “It’s fun. He deserves it.”

Gabe considers this. Fair enough. 

Tyson opens the minibar and snags two bottles, tosses one to Gabe and screws the top off of his, takes a drink. “Okay, are we picking up where we left off, or what?”

“If you want to,” Gabe says, passing the little bottle from one hand to another, watching as Tyson alternates between unbuttoning his shirt and taking sips from his bottle. 

Tyson stares at him. “Do I - fucking yes I want to, Jesus, were you not there before? That was fucking hot.”

“I thought maybe being in _jail_ would’ve killed the mood, Tyson,” Gabe says. He opens his bottle and drains it, one eye on the way Tyson’s hands are moving over his buttons. 

Tyson strips his shirt off, tosses it on the floor and does the same with his belt. “Nah. C’mon, let’s go, escort.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, stalking forward until he can grab Tyson by the front of his t-shirt and pull him close. “But you have to pay me first.”

Tyson blinks, a flush slowly spreading across his cheeks; Gabe takes a minute to admire it, to appreciate how easy it always is. “Yeah, all right.” He comes up with his wallet, shoves a handful of bills into Gabe’s hand. “There, $500, what’re the rules?”

“The rules?” Gabe asks innocently, folding the bills neatly and putting them in his pocket. He’ll take them out, return them to Tyson’s wallet later, but for now, well, he’s going to get paid.

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Shit,” Gabe mutters. He’s suddenly too warm, his stomach tightening as he looks at Tyson’s desperate, open face, his eager eyes. “Yeah. You can kiss me.”

Tyson surges forward, both hands coming up to cup Gabe’s face, and kisses him. His mouth is already open against Gabe’s, and Gabe can taste the sharpness of the vodka he’d just drunk, the lingering hint of what he thinks is chocolate. He slides his hand over Tyson’s shoulder, down his spine to the dip of the small of his back, lets his hand settle right at the top of Tyson’s ass and kisses him back.

“What else, c’mon,” Tyson pants after a few minutes, dragging his mouth away from Gabe’s. “Can I blow you?”

“No,” Gabe says decisively, because it’s not the time for that. “But you can let me fuck you.”

“Yeah, okay, shit,” Tyson says, hands flying to the front of his pants, but Gabe stops him with one hand, gentle on his wrist. 

“You can let me do that,” he says, a little roughly, and Tyson stops immediately, hands still by his sides as Gabe unzips his pants, untucks his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head, pushes Tyson’s pants and underwear down. “You can sit down,” he adds, once Tyson has stepped out of the pants, and takes a step back to undress himself.

Tyson’s pupils are blown out by the time Gabe has gotten his clothes off, eyes dark, biting his lip and watching as Gabe finds the lube where they left it the day before, on the floor by the table where Gabe had been bent over, Tyson’s fingers gripping his hips tight enough to leave marks as he fucked him. He finds the extra condoms in his backpack, too, drops them onto the nightstand together before he lies down, stretches out and pats the spot next to him. 

“You can come here,” he says, and Tyson moves in a blur, carefully pressing close, leaning up and kissing him again in a way that’s just tentative enough that it has what feels like all the blood in Gabe’s body rushing to his dick.

“Tell me what you like,” Gabe says, pulling away to bite at the tendons in Tyson’s neck and wrapping a hand around Tyson’s thigh to pull him closer. “I’m going to make you feel good, I promise.”

“I like,” Tyson starts, his voice cracking, and then he cuts himself off to whimper as Gabe strokes his fingers between Tyson’s cheeks. “I like that, fuck, just - please fuck me.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, hiding a smile in Tyson’s hair and uncapping the lube. “I can do that.”

Tyson presses his face into Gabe’s chest and moans as Gabe carefully opens him up; his hands are grabbing a little desperately at Gabe, roaming from his hip to his shoulder back down to his ass, and staying in control now is maybe one of the hardest things Gabe’s ever had to do.

“You can put the condom on me,” Gabe says, low in Tyson’s ear when he’s ready.

“Fuck,” Tyson hisses, grabbing for it. He rips the packet open so frantically the condom pops out and goes flying across the bed and he has to track down where it landed in the sheets, and Gabe tries very hard not to laugh. “Sorry, fuck, I - sorry,” Tyson babbles once he’s found it, face red, hands shaky as he rolls it on, and Gabe lets out his breath slowly, licks his lips and grips his dick at the base. 

“It’s fine. What position would you like?”

“Anything,” Tyson says, reaching for him, wrapping his arms around Gabe’s neck and kissing him again, so Gabe just presses him back down to the mattress and braces himself against the headboard and fucks into him then, just like that. He likes it best like this, anyway, with Tyson pressed close and kissing him, gasping against his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Gabe,” Tyson lets out when Gabe starts to move, rocking his hips in small movements. “You - ”

“Is this good?” Gabe asks. He presses his mouth against the dip of Tyson’s collarbone. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyson says urgently. “It’s so good, I - you feel so good. Don’t stop.” His voice goes quiet halfway through the sentence, his eyes closed. Gabe kisses him again, moves a little faster.

He can tell when Tyson is close; he’s sweating, his eyes desperate and his muscles twitching, and Gabe reaches down and wraps a hand around Tyson’s dick, finally. 

“You want to come?” he asks, and Tyson gasps and nods, his eyes boring into Gabe, and Gabe twists his wrist as he strokes Tyson’s dick. “Go ahead, baby, come for me.”

Tyson moans, fucks into Gabe’s hand once or twice, and then tenses up and comes. Gabe wipes his hand on the sheet and gives him a minute and pointedly doesn’t kiss Tyson’s face where it’s gone slack, doesn’t kiss his mouth, lips parted in a way that’s almost obscene. He just waits.

Tyson lifts his head up after a few minutes. “What’re you doing, come on, I - ”

“Did you want me to finish like this?” Gabe asks politely, trying not to grind his teeth because he wants to come so badly he really might scream. 

Tyson blinks at him for a few seconds before putting it together. “Oh! Uh, sorry, yeah. Please. You can.”

Gabe lets out a breath and starts moving again, and only takes a minute or two of Tyson clenching around him and hissing filthy things in his ear to coax him over the edge. Tyson has one hand tangled in his hair and pulls on it as he comes, tells him, “Yeah, that’s so fucking good, you look so fucking hot like this,” and Gabe collapses on Tyson’s chest, totally spent. 

Tyson is running his fingers through Gabe’s hair, and his brain is mush, and it somehow seems like the thing to do, to lift up his head and meet Tyson’s eyes and say simply, “Hey. I love you.”

Tyson blinks rapidly, fingers stilling. “Okay, um, I - the population of Sweden is 10 million, Gabe, what’re you - ”

“That was me,” Gabe says gently. “It felt like the right moment. Was it not the right moment? Sorry, maybe it wasn’t, but - I do. I love you.”

Tyson’s face breaks into a grin. “You’re such an idiot. You wait all this time to say it and then say it when you’re pretending to be an escort I met in a bar.”

Gabe shrugs, turns his head and kisses the soft inside of Tyson’s arm. “I wouldn’t have gone to Sakic to get just anybody out of jail, you know.”

“Nope,” Tyson agrees, pleased. “That was because you _love_ me. Hey.”

“Hm.”

“I love you too,” Tyson tells him, and Gabe turns his head back and makes eye contact with him again, smiling. “Like, kind of a lot, I don’t know when that happened, but - ”

“You can shut up now,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson digs his fingers into Gabe’s sides and tickles him, and they thrash around in the sheets, laughing, until Gabe pins one of Tyson’s arms and they end up wrapped around each other, kissing again.  
  
  
  
  
The next morning Gabe wakes up because Tyson smacks the newspaper onto his chest and says, “You have to check and see if my arrest made the news.”

“Leave me alone,” Gabe says, groaning into a pillow, but then he sits up and starts leafing through the paper. Tyson hovers and looks nervous and it’s all kind of a lot for 9 AM. Finally, he tosses the last few sheets aside. “Doesn’t look like it. Forsberg must’ve really shelled out.”

“I can’t believe I’m indebted to Peter Forsberg,” Tyson says, taking off his hotel robe and getting back in bed, unceremoniously dumping sections of the paper on the floor. “Like, where do I even go from here?”

“I can’t believe none of those cops recognized me,” Gabe mutters. “Lundqvist got a billboard!”

“Yeah, but you got a really good story,” Tyson tells him. He pauses. “Also, you got me.”

“I’d rather have a billboard,” Gabe tells him. 

“Oh, Gabe,” Tyson says, shaking his head. “I love you, but your head would never fit on a billboard.”

Gabe pushes him out of bed.


End file.
